Blacklisted

Looks like I'm in the dog house. I've been officially blacklisted ... by my sweet daughter.

Yesterday was not only Grocery Day, but also a snow day. Or rather, a "no-snow" day. The early morning dawn brought major icy conditions; the neighborhood was sheeted in a slippery sheen. We got the early call, I for one being so grateful that I could sleep in a little bit. Figures that my kids still got up at an insanely early hour ...

So Grocery Day meant I had two kids in tow, instead of just Grace. I was exceedingly tired yesterday morning, feeling no refreshment after my hours of slumber whatsoever. I was in no mood for noise, chaos, all those things that seem to shadow children. I craved peace, quiet, aloneness ... and of course, I wasn't going to get it. I had a massive list, full of healthy things (and a curiosity to boot -- whether or not the ingredients for my planned healthy recipes would up the final price tag considerably), and I needed every ounce of energy to concentrate. I didn't want any distractions in the grocery store. Yet I do have children ...

Thankfully Aidan tagged along with my parents (we carpool), which left me alone with Grace, as usual. But dear Grace was in no mood to accommodate my mood -- so peace and quiet and concentration were not on my morning's menu. I confess I was irritable, short-tempered, sharp-tongued. I wanted her sit in the cart's seat; she wanted to walk (or more precisely, run and skip and sprint and dart here and there). I wanted -- needed! -- to concentrate on my purchases, not on keeping an eye on her every second. She's unpredictable, fearless, fast -- as a child of three should be, and is. But I wasn't in the mood for that. I wanted a mannequin I could strap into the seat.

The latter half of the shopping ordeal was comprised of her crying, unnaturally loud voice projecting throughout the store. About what, I'm not quite sure. Probably because I got so fed up of running after her, holding on to her, keeping an eye on her, putting things back on the shelf that she removed (cans, toilet brushes, you name it) -- all of which doubled my shopping time. If I could just focus, just concentrate, I could get through my list quickly and efficiently! I had had enough of her distractions; I made her sit in the seat despite her protests. And boy, did she ever ...

She made her feelings certainly known to me, that's for sure. No beating around the bush for this one; no passive-aggressive manipulations. Just a flat-out declaration, blacklisting me for all eternity:

"Mommy, I am not your darling anymore!"

There it is, on the table, no holds barred. She declared she loved Daddy, she wanted Daddy, where was Daddy when she needed him. She was now Daddy's darling, not mine. Ever.

We made it out of the store, finally. I had a pounding headache. I was so tired. My bill was higher than usual, confirming my healthy conundrum that eating well means paying more. I took a good, strong nap after lunch -- feeling a bit better, enough to tackle the preparation of some good-for-you treats. I whipped up some hummus to eat with all of the vegetables that I bought (thank you, Jacie); I concocted a tasty Oriental Cole Slaw full of yummy goodness (thank you, Jacie); I mixed up a bowl of homemade bruschetta (thank you, me); I made the most amazing dinner on top of it all: Greek Spinach Frittata (thank you, Moosewood), that we just couldn't get enough of. Even Aidan loved it (note: make enough for him next time). But man, eating healthy isn't only more expensive; it's a tiring load of work!

Oh, and a side note ...
Grace loves me today.

Ooohhhhhh ...

No burning bush, but a sad little site nonetheless.

I miss the lights ... but boy, it feels good to have my living room back to normal.

Reclaiming Normalcy

The kids have a book in their library called The Fir Tree by Hans Christian Andersen -- a different breed of author, a different era of "children's" literature, to be sure. It's a story with a moral, a message -- of a little fir tree who was so consistently discontented with its life in the forest, always wanting bigger and better, watching the other larger trees being hauled off each Christmas season, wanting that fate rather than delighting in its free and beautiful life in the forest with the birds and creatures and surrounding beauty. The day finally comes when the tree is cut down and brought to a house, decorated to the hilt for one special day ... and then disposed of. The final page tells of the tree sighing, realizing too late that it should have appreciated its life, appreciated what it had, before it was too late. The last page turns, the final illustration depicting the tree aflame in a brush pile, gone.

It's kind of ... depressing, really, and I'm surprised that Aidan actually wants to read this. Kids' stories can be so sanitized, and you rarely find a contemporary book of this nature. I always get sad when I read this -- the sad sighing always gets to me -- not only because I know this message is for me, but also because I just feel bad for that little tree ...

Today is Epiphany -- and when I asked Don when he thought we should take down the Christmas tree, he said, "Wait until Epiphany." I'm not sure why, but today is the day. To borrow words from my friend Jen, I am so ready to "reclaim my house." While I love the soft lights and the lingering scent of pine, I'm ready for cleanliness and order in that small corner of our living room. We need -- and, indeed, use -- every inch of space in this house, and I'm ready for that corner to be made available again for toy storage. But dismantling the tree -- carting up the soon-to-be-refilled bins from the basement, taking down all the little ornaments, unraveling the strings of wooden beads and lights, packing away All Things Santa -- is a big task. A tiring one when doing it alone. But I know the system, the rhythm ... so it's my task.

The kids are going to fuss -- Grace threw quite a fit when I took down the outdoor decorations over the weekend. I'll still leave up my winter-and-snowman stuff -- that's appropriate for the season. But the rest will get tucked away and slumber for another year. Today's the day to reclaim my house, to take that first definite step into the new year without decoration, without frills, without distractions -- just me, my non-resolutions, and that God-rumbling. No more masking what's ahead, no more overshadowing with the holiday finery.

Time once again to live a normal life.

But even though the decorations will soon be packed away, the joy of Christmas is not. The tree might be coming down and discarded onto the curb, but what's left behind -- the lessons learned, the memories made, the reminders of who we are and why we're here -- is what we take with us as we step into the new year.

I hope I hold on to that for a long, long time.

Johnny Appleseed and My (Healthy) Conundrum

I really do love to eat healthy. In fact, I even experience cravings for foods that are bright green or cheery red (and not having anything to do with Red Dye #3). Sometimes. Don and I were watching a TV show the other night, and the woman needed to make a change in her life -- disposing of her junk food stash (M&M's in the nightstand drawer, and marshmallow fluff hidden in the toilet tank, for starters) and making healthy choices. Her boyfriend helped her trash the junk, and then the two went on a "date" to Whole Foods. I kind of laughed later on in the episode, how she suddenly and whole-heartedly made the switch. Peanut M&Ms were replaced by fruits and veggies. Yeah, it's that easy ...

She wanted to show her boyfriend how good she was doing, and the scene took place in her kitchen. They stood behind the island, and she told him of her successful shopping trip to Whole Foods. She declared she would be making a Caprese salad for lunch, because they had such stunningly gorgeous tomatoes and fresh basil, and she just couldn't pass them up ... The woman literally had a plate of no less than 15 huge tomatoes, and an entire bowl full of basil. My goodness, that's going to be some salad ... I laughed at the ridiculousness of the amount of food, but it sure did look good and I felt those cravings for summertime bounty ...

Eating healthy, though, can be expensive! OK, so she was an actress (on the show) and was loaded. She can afford to buy 15 Whole Foods tomatoes. How I wish I could shop weekly at Whole Foods, stocking up on hormone-free meat and organic veggies. Don would need to take on a second job for that, however. This hit home yesterday on a much smaller scale, but an eye-opening event nonetheless ...

My kids love applesauce. Heck, we all do in our family. It's healthy, makes a great snack, and even falls into the fruit segment on the food pyramid. I've been purchasing those individual cups of applesauce, which are perfect for Aidan's lunch. But when I stand in the aisle, preparing to make my choice, I've been choosing the store brand over Mott's. If I can save at least $1.50, if not more, per six-pack, then it's kind of a no-brainer. Finding savings in every corner is a necessity. But in my haste to save my pennies, I never stopped to look at the label.

Yesterday for lunch I decided to have one of those little applesauce cups. When I pulled back the foil lid, I stared at it for minute ... wondering if I would need a straw to suck it up, it was that watery. Where are the apples? Or are they there, but pureed to a point that would make even a toothless person scoff? I decided to look at the label, wondering if "water" was the first ingredient ... and then wondering what else is in there to make it that soupy ...

Phew. First ingredient: apples. OK -- not a total loss. But then it was followed by sugar. And then with a high fructose corn syrup chaser. And then some other kind of sugar derivative. Oh, and of course lots and lots of water. Might as well just thrown in some pure cane stalks for extra sweet measure.

I did have a small cup of the Mott's brand, left over from a while ago when Aidan declared he didn't like the Mott's mixes. Apparently, for Aidan, applesauce should only contain apples, and not be mixed with other fruits like berries or peaches. That would just take way too much imagination to stomach. The Mott's "Berry Blend" was still in the pantry, so I checked out that label:

Apples. Purees of raspberries, strawberries, and blueberries. Fruit and Vegetable Juice. Vitamin D. Water.

No sugar. No high fructose corn syrup. No junk.
But it was $1.50 more.

My healthy conundrum ... I have to pay more to eat better. Or I have to learn if there are any loopholes or corners to cut in order to eat healthier and save money at the same time. Is it even possible? I don't even know.

I might not be able to afford free-range, hormone-free, dye-free, evil-free meat at $9.99 a pound, but I guess I can start with buying Mott's (straight apples, of course) instead of the slurpy sugar offered by the store brand.

Have you found yourself in a similar conundrum? Have you found corners to cut, or loopholes to happily -- and healthily -- skip through? Share your secrets, my friends -- this family's gotta make some changes.

Routine Return

Monday Morning ...

Monday mornings are tough by definition -- but make that a Monday morning after a nearly two week holiday break, and you're talking a whole new level of tough ...

I realized -- belatedly -- that I too was given a vacation these past many days ... the gift of being able to sleep in. Each morning I registered a blissful 7:30 a.m. before my noisy kids woke me up. That's an hour and a half extra hours of sleep per day ... almost 10 extra hours of sleep per week ... No wonder my mood was greatly improved!

So you can imagine that when the alarm went off at 6:00 a.m. this morning, right in the middle of a dream, my mood was anything but happy. It was still dark and cold; I was sorely missing that extra hour and a half. It didn't help that Don couldn't get up either -- not that he ever "sleeps in," but I guess subconsciously he knew this Monday triggered the return to our routine.

Next came the tough task of rousing the kids. Poor Aidan -- my Routine Boy -- had gotten so used to his new schedule that this came as a brutal shock, a shifting once again. The breakfast table was one of miserable chaos, with each child crying that whiny cry of "I'm just so tired and I can't do anything about it" ... I get it, sweet ones, I do!

The house is quiet now -- relatively, anyway. I do still have one child left at home, after all, who is watching the Little Einsteins at the moment. Don's schedule has changed a bit -- one more thing to get used to as well. During the holiday break, he was actually given a promotion at his job (yay!) -- a wonderful nod of "well done" that ironically came with a major pay cut (boo!) ... gotta love how this economy can really mess with you. But his hard work was recognized, and that's a good thing -- lack of compensation or not. But with this promotion -- and salary cut -- comes a tremendous amount of more responsibility and more work, which means more time clocking in at the job. He has to leave earlier in the mornings now, which has shifted our routine a bit this morning. Too much dancing around each other this morning in an already tight kitchen -- something's gotta change, as soon as we figure out a good system.

But my boy is back at school, and I miss him already. Sure, the kids had their fair share of spats during the break, but overall those two do love each other and get along beautifully well. I'm going to miss his helpfulness -- clearing the table after lunch, helping his sister reach something, getting snacks for the two of them. I'm going to miss his chatter, his inquisitiveness, his nearly grown-up conversations, his insights and observations. His presence certainly adds such a different, and wonderful, dynamic to our daily goings-on. He'll be happy at school, though -- his mewing protests this morning of "Mommy, I just don't want to go!" weren't convincing enough, for either himself or me. He thrives there in that environment; I'm glad for it.

So we're now slowly, creakingly, returning to our routine. Laundry Load #1 is already swishing, Grace is fed and dressed, the dishes will soon be tackled, my week's responsibilities (more or less) will be planned out. Soon ... soon ...

Happy Monday to all.

God-Rumbling

Killing a little time here before church ... sipping hot, dark French Roast ... kids watching Sesame Street on PBS (no cable -- I love the fact that we can easily survive without it) ... feeling very sleepy and lazy and still hung-over from Christmas festivities. Wouldn't mind crawling back into bed right now, with my latest book in my lap (The Story of Edgar Sawtelle) ... maybe -- hopefully -- later ...

A lot has been stirring in the dark corners of my brain over these past few weeks -- again, feeling that subtle God-rumbling, wondering what He's got up his Divine Sleeve, feeling a bit goose-bumpy that we're nearing something, but not sure what ...

Like so, so many others "out there," the crumbling mess of the economy has come a little too uncomfortably close to home. Yet, oddly -- yet Spirit-fed -- I'm not too worried about it. Our tight belts will have to be pulled even tighter, boring holes in the leather as my grandfather used to do, making tighter notches where there aren't any. But we have a mantra, whenever the strain of the belt threatens to cut off circulation: "Don has a job." He is employed. Securely. And his boss is confident that things will turn around soon. Hope. A life-raft.

Yet our hope shouldn't come in the form of George ... it should come from God. Yet I of so little faith ... I can see George, I can hear George, I can feel his optimistic vibe, I can allow myself to catch his contagion that things will improve. And God ... well, that's faith, isn't it. And I think, once again, the veil is being pulled back, shining light on that area of my life that needs nurturing: Faith. Trust.

There's still a dense fog, here in my thoughts. Like Moses, who was warned that he couldn't handle seeing the full glory of God, I too don't think I can handle that veil completely rent in two. I need small bits, handleable, manageable, an easing into what God wants me to see, what I need to work on. Trust is not easy for me, especially after having trust completely obliterated two years ago. But the journey continues; the healing is not over; and this door in front of me -- whether or opening or closing -- is my focus.

I just need the faith, and the courage, to take that step and see where it might lead.

Telling Time (Aidan-Style)

It's the first day of 2009, and it's only fitting that the first post of this new year falls right into the category of "time," a metaphor so aptly used during this season. And, also quite fitting (and much-needed), we start off the year with a laugh.

Aidan, as we all know, is extremely routine-oriented. The more scheduled his day, the happier he is. Now that he is in the midst of his Christmas break, I'm thankful to say that he is doing better than I thought, coming up with his own schedules and time-markers to get through each day. It works for him, and subsequently for all of us.

One of his fail-proof time-markers is TV time -- quite limited in our house, which makes the marker even more substantial. He knows not to reach for the remote until the clock strikes 7:00 a.m., and he knows when he has to turn it off. The same goes for the afternoon -- at 5:00 p.m. sharp all activity ceases, that sacred hour when "Ruff Ruffman" enters our living room. You can tell when Aidan is having a bit of difficulty with his free time when he starts asking 10 or 15 minutes before that token hour, "When is it TV time?" The earlier the countdown, the more I figure he's bored with coming up with his own stuff to do.

This afternoon I decided to put aside the tasks that had piled up -- some sewing, some cleaning up -- and I wanted to focus on the kids. I pulled a few "new" games out of the basement, and for about a half hour we played (or rather, Aidan and I played while Grace complained) an old memory game called "Snapshot" that I loved playing as a child. Aidan's photographic memory blew me away -- he's definitely my boy.

Around 4:30 p.m. I knew I had to tackle their bedroom and change their sheets, a household task I do not look forward to. Changing sheets on a bunk bed is not easy, not fun, but I couldn't put it off any longer. Wrangling and wrestling with sheets in tight places is hard enough; dealing with the congregation of stuffed animals on Grace's bed and the task of rearranging said souls thereafter takes even longer than re-sheeting. It's an ordeal, to say the least. I told the kids to find something to play with in the meantime, and they went "camping" in the living room with the temporarily discarded blankets and animals.

Later on, as I was finishing up, I asked Aidan if he wanted to play with a certain toy that I wouldn't mind getting out for him. He politely declined, with a very specific reason:

"I can't play with that now, Mommy. It's in the Fifties of Four."

Ummmm ... the what in the what?

"The Fifties of Four."

I think I stared at him blankly a little too long, quite sure that he was correct in whatever he was trying to say (as usual), but equally quite sure that I had no idea what he was talking about.

"You know, Mommy. It's almost TV time."

The Fifties of Four.
Less Than Ten Minutes to Five P.M.
Almost TV Time.

What a way to tell time!
For a boy who struggles a bit in the world of imagination, that sure was creative.